


Maybe This Time He'll Say a Prayer for the Damned

by toxicNeurosis, zimmer2d



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Bit of rape/noncon in the alternate ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Not so much smut in this one though, Rule 63 AU, but then i couldnt think of an ending, genderswap AU, originally i just wanted to write some noodle angst because reasons, so zim and i collabed and this came to be, this one has a not-quite-so-nice alternate ending because angst and reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicNeurosis/pseuds/toxicNeurosis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimmer2d/pseuds/zimmer2d
Summary: “Jesus.”You blink awake, wondering who the hell just swore -- by Marceline’s standards, anyway -- then realize that it was you who swore and with good reason: you’re crushed up against a terrified sleeping body that’s gripping you far too tightly. He’s heaving and crying and squeezing you and shit it’s happening again.(Post Phase 3 but not quite Phase 4)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So zim and I collabed again on a piece I'd already started work on but couldn't find a way to finish. I dunno, it was really late at night (or really early in the morning?) and I just wanted to write some male!Noodle angst and maybe some fluffy smut and then this happened.
> 
> This one's the Everybody Wins ending. The ridiculously sweet and fluffy one, with the nice smut. The alternate, the not-quite-so-sweet-and-fluffy-not-so-nice-smut one, will be posted in a separate chapter with a rape/non-con warning in the notes. In case it wasn't already obvious enough. So if you don't like or if you simply don't want to read, don't hit that "next chapter" button.
> 
> For the record, I didn't think someone so sweet could write something so cruel.

“ ** _Jesus._** ”

You blink awake, wondering who the hell just swore -- by Marceline’s standards, anyway -- then realize that it was you who swore and with good reason: you’re crushed up against a terrified sleeping body that’s gripping you far too tightly. He’s heaving and crying and squeezing you and shit it’s happening again.

“ _’Oo the fuck jus’ swore in my ‘ouse?_ ” That would be Marcie, now awake and thoroughly pissed.

“ _She didn’ swear, an’ it ain’ your ‘ouse any’ow!_ ” There goes Tina, also awake and thoroughly pissed that Marcie keeps trying to claim ownership of the flat even though she can’t hold down a job and Tina’s the one who pays the rent. It was her flat to begin with anyway.

“ _If the two a you don’ stop yer squawkin’ I’ll be bangin’ on yer skulls, ya hear me?_ ” There’s Rosie from the roof, not a yell, far from it, but the volume in her tone is more than enough. All arguments cease immediately.

You reach around the body ensnaring yours and flick on the bedside lamp. Noodle is near coiled around you, long lanky limbs clasping you close tight enough to bruise. His heart’s frantically pounding in your head as if it were your own. His face is streaked in tears.

“Oh Noodle baby, hush,” you croon as you pry his arms off of you and scoop him up from amidst all the junk he keeps on the bed, all 5-feet-ten-inches of him, cradling him as if he were still eight years old. He thrashes for only a moment when he’s separated from you, then curls into himself and tucks his head against your neck, sobbing. While you try to calm him down from the horrors of his nightmare, shooshing him and rubbing his back, you inspect yourself. No bruises this time, thankfully. You think you’re out of Icy-Hot anyway.

This sudden change in behavior was startling at first, still is, nothing like the eight-year-old you grew up with, language barrier aside, camping out under the stars at night and building blanket forts in the lounge of Kong Studios, watching stupid Japanese game shows and Studio Ghibli movies on the television and giggling the night away. Even when the band had split the first time it was as though nothing had changed nearly two years afterward when they all came back, even if you’d both matured quite a bit in both mind and body. But this time something had happened when he disappeared; no one is still really sure what. When asked he just shivers and mumbles _hell_ and that’s all you’re able to get out of him so you quit asking. So either Hell itself or somewhere Hell-like. Either way it leaves him wracked with nightmares and mental scars and severe PTSD that the doctor said he may never fully recover from. This is only the fourth episode this month though. He’s getting better. You guess all this junk piled on the bed -- it invokes a sense of security, apparently -- and your presence at night have helped. The last time he’d had an episode without you nearby he’d nearly set his room on fire by knocking over the lamp in his sleep. Even if he does hug you tightly enough to bruise, it’s worth it if it helps him recover.

Noodle finally settles down again after several moments, easing back into a kinder sleep, and you tuck him back up underneath Pikachu and Godzilla and his hockey stick and skateboard and switch the lamp back off. He’s never told you what the nightmares are about, but you can guess: most likely memories of whatever had happened in the four years he’d been gone instead of typical nightmares, his worst fears realized. Probably demons wearing your face and the faces of his bandmates dying. Him probably the one doing the slaying. Him probably pleading forgiveness over and over again as he’s forced to kill creatures that look and act like his friends and family but really aren’t.

You really don’t like to think about that possibility.

He tucks back up against you, slips his arms around you in a loose hug, buries his head against your neck. You take a corner of the blanket and gently dab at the tears streaking his face, wincing yourself at his wincing when you brush against the enormous bruise still bright and clear underneath his eye. His eyelids flutter and blink open and you curse internally. Dangit, can no one get a decent night’s sleep around here anymore, even the one who probably needs it most?

Noodle breathes a slow, heavy sigh and pushes himself into a sort of sitting position, leaning back on his elbows. He’s gnawing at his lip, a bit of a tic he picked up from Tina. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Pretty much all trace of his Japanese accent is gone save for a bit of pronunciation, it’s smoother and far more British and damn, it suits him.

“Not this time.”

“Okay.” He breathes hard through his nose in relief. “Okay. Thank God.”

“ _Stop yer damn swearing!_ ”

“ _For th’love of-- Dammit, Marcie, can’ you give ‘im a break? Poor kid’s been frough ‘Ell an’ back again!_ ”

“ _Both of you shut the hell up!_ ”

Noodle sighs. “How long have they been at this?”

“Not long. Want some tea?”

“Yes please.”

It’s a bit of a struggle finding your way down the staircase in the dark -- and Noodle winds up tripping over Marcie’s stair machine making the journey that much worse, but eventually you’re both in the admittedly dirty kitchen nook in one piece and there’s a kettle brewing on the stove. In the dim electric light Noodle looks pale and exhausted and his bruises pop far too brightly to make you comfortable.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He never does, but you feel you should ask anyway. Besides, the doctor said it would help somehow, some sort of psychology that would help him heal as long as he knew someone cared enough to inquire, even if he never wanted to talk about it.

“No. Thank you though.” He’s staring down at the table, picking at something stuck on it with a fingernail until he learns it’s probably never coming off and he quits trying. “Kind of funny, isn’t it? The only guy in this place is probably cleaner than the women that live here. You aside, of course.”

True. He’s not exactly clean himself, but compared to his bandmates he may as well be Cinderella, poofy white dress and glass slippers and all. Pretty amusing mental image, that.

He’s changed a lot, in some ways you don’t necessarily like. He’s too quiet now. Sure, he’d always been rather quiet, rather thoughtful, but when he’d come back from Japan and he’d realized he could finally communicate with you and the others properly it seemed like he never stopped talking. Now he hardly speaks at all, and most of it is sharp comments directed at Marcie for leaving him for dead. He doesn’t seem to buy her tall tales of having searched half the world over for him, which she herself doesn’t even seem to believe, considering she may have been drunk or on acid at the time, or for replacing him with a cyborg -- you think if she’d bothered making it anatomically correct he would have shot her point-blank, no questions asked. You don’t know necessarily where he would have shot her, you don’t think he could ever bring himself to kill her, but he probably may have blown a leg off, or an arm, or an ear, just something that wouldn’t kill her immediately if it did happen to kill her. That was another. He had become far too violent. Thankfully he hasn’t whipped out the tommy gun he’d carried when he’d showed up at the Beach along with Rosie since then, but he’ll shout at Marcie if and when they ever get into arguments where he’d once handled her in a level-headed manner and you’ve caught him punching walls and tables before. His knuckles are scarred over from being busted open so many times. You wonder how much is him and how much is the side effects of various medications.

The kettle’s starting to whistle, so you remove it from the stove eye and get out the lemon juice from the fridge. Ginseng, plenty of lemon, the way he likes it. He thanks you when you present the cup to him but he doesn’t drink it immediately, just sits there with it cupped in his hands. He makes a soft noise when you run your fingers through his dark hair but he doesn’t pull away like he used to not long after you’d all moved in.

“I will say this,” he finally mumbles after a stretched-out moment. “Bill and Ted were right and all our album covers lied to us.”

It takes a moment before you finally process what he’s just said and you realize it’s from some stupid ‘90s movie he admittedly loves where the two main characters wind up in Hell and they casually comment that it’s nothing like their album covers depict it to be.

Is he lowkey admitting he’d actually been in Hell for nearly four years?

Or maybe he’s just trying to lighten the mood, you’re not really sure.

He does finally drink his tea after a few minutes, asks if you’d like to go for a walk with him. Nothing out of the ordinary, late-night walks were one of your favorite pastimes when you two were younger. Rosie waves goodbye from the roof as you step out into the spring air. It’s a bit chilled and you wish you’d brought a jacket. Noodle doesn’t seem to mind the cold. Before you know it you’ve reached the Thames; it’s still covered by a thin sheet of ice but you can see where the water swirls and tumbles along beneath the surface. Noodle stands there on the bridge, looking down into the water below. The lamplight shimmers off his iridescent blue plugs; they’re small ones, but you swear Rosie had been ready to disown him when he suddenly came home one day not long after you’d all moved into the flat with those four millimeter plugs in his earlobes. You still remember the deadpan look he’d given her, and the way he’d said “Rosalinda, I am a grown man” as his only rebuttal to her argument that he wasn’t allowed to get plugs still makes you laugh sometimes. To her he’s still her baby child, this little boy who couldn’t speak a lick of English eleven years ago. Seeing him grown up when she wasn’t even there for almost half of it must be a hard pill to swallow.

“Remember that little creek near Kong where we used to go on walks like this?” he asks, tracing a line in the thin frost on the bridge rail with his finger. “Skip stones, talk about the future? Where we’d unofficially proposed to each other?”

You do remember. You still have the little plastic ring he’d gotten from a gacha machine at the market when you were still kids.

“I was thinking about going back there for the day, for old times’ sake, once it’s warm enough I mean. If you’ll come with me.”

Nothing needs to be said. You tuck up next to him and he loops an arm around your shoulders, presses a kiss to the top of your head.

A month passes and you wake next to him again. He managed to sleep relatively peacefully through the night, as far as his sleeping patterns go. You try to make things lighthearted, deciding to break out that old picnic basket and fill it with a couple of homemade ‘bento’ lunches. They aren't so much the traditional lunch contents as they are Tupperware containing Noodle’s favorite things.

You take the Geep, wondering how the dune buggy hung on through the years especially after Marcie’s hellacious driving. You offer to drive; Noodle isn't totally awake and he'd taken some of Tina's migraine medicine, the effects not quite worn off yet. Rosie bids you farewell from the top of the roof. You could swear that she had a tear in her white eyes as you drove off.

You arrive at the creek just a bit off from Kong. You see the dilapidated studio on the hill, looking eerie and haunted, even in the sunlight of spring. Noodle follows behind you, carrying the basket and following the creek, that unsettling quiet lingering over your heads.

“How about here?” you ask him, there was a nice shady spot under a shady tree just at the bank of the creek. You set up your picnic and Noodle smiles at you. “What?”

“You don't remember?” he asks. He rounds the tree trunk and you follow, giggling at the cuts in the tree that marked the memory of your ‘proposal’. Your name and Noodle’s were still etched on that tree, the feeling of nostalgia rushes through the your brain, remembering those simpler times. 

You feel him reach down and take your hand, squeezing it tightly. There has never been a time that you didn’t love the feel of his hands; those fingers that are a little like Tina’s: long and thin, but something about those guitar-playing calluses makes you just melt into him. They’re tough, sure, but the way he strokes your face or thumbs the back of your hand as he holds it...there’s just something about them…

“Noodle? What’s wrong?”

You look up at him and there are tears in his vibrant green eyes. He wipes them away, a watery smile still on his lips. “Just...thinking is all.”

“About what?”

Noodle gnaws on his lip again, that odd tic thing that you aren’t sure if you want to break him from it or not. He reaches under his jacket and shirt and pulls at the woven necklace underneath. On the end is your little blue plastic ring. You wonder when and how he got it and how you never noticed it missing. “I’m going to give you a real one of these one day,” he says. “Right here. I want it to be like when we were kids; when...I wasn’t so fucked up.”

“But you aren’t--” you begin, but he shakes his head at you.

“I am. I’m too fucked in the head and you deserve to be happy without shouldering my burdens.” A stray tear slips off Noodle’s rosy cheek and onto your hand still closed in his. “I don’t want that for you.”

You wipe away another tear, trying not to cry yourself. You take his chin in your fingers, lifting his face to yours and pressing your lips to his. When was the last time you truly kissed? Noodle inhales sharply at the surprise, staring at you as you back away. “‘For better or worse.’ Isn’t that how it goes?” you sniffle with a smile. You wrap your arms around his neck. 

“But--” he whispers.

“Hey, everyone’s messed up, Noods. It’s ok. I’m here, ok?” 

Noodle’s eyes dart around your face, frowning at your tears. He kisses them away, then your lips, pulling you tightly to his body. He backs you into the tree, his thumbs stroking sweetly at your waist. He’s intoxicating your senses, making you crave him. You brush your tongue along his lips, wanting to feel his tongue wrestle with yours. It’s been awhile since you were this close, so when he finally does let you in, it detonates all of your nerves at once.

You can feel Noodle’s arousal as he presses into your hips. You run your hands through his hair, hearing him hiss softly. You tug the zipper of his jacket, but you hesitate to go on. “What?” he asks.

“Um, is it alright...if we…?” You feel your face warm with embarrassment. “I mean we don’t have to if you don’t--” Noodle puts his thin finger to your lips.

“Shh…” He gives you a half smile and shoves off his jacket. He leans into you again, lifting you and pinning you against the tree. “It’s been too long,” he whispers to you. “I...I miss this. I want this.”

You smile at him, feeling him press a bit more into you and push your skirt up a bit more. Noodle’s body shivers when you touch him, even the little brush of your fingers as you undo his jeans draws a little growl from him; a sweet little moan escapes him when you take him in your cold hand.

“I-I don’t have any protection,” he tells you blushingly.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. Before you left, you ‘borrowed’ Tina’s jacket and, for whatever reason, a black foil package was in the pocket. You show this to Noodle, a genuine smirk stretching across his face. He takes the condom and slips it on, pushing aside your panties and easing into you. Both of your faces screw up as waves of nearly forgotten pleasure rock through you, keeping a slow but sweet pace.

God, you missed this. You couldn’t stand the sexual tension between you two. For a while you couldn’t so much as touch him for weeks, though you hadn’t done it but once or twice before. Even so, that kind and loving touch Noodle has… you swear no one has ever touched you in such a way.

Noodle’s breathing picks up, little puffs of steam push out of his mouth as his head bows to nip at your neck. You love his kisses, how he nibbles adorably at the skin there and ruts against you softly. You miss his...well, manhood. Noodle shattered all possible stereotypes as far as you were concerned. He fills you completely, never going to fast or too slow, too hard or too soft. He groans into you, gripping your hips and murmuring the sweet nothings you like.

“Ngh…” he moans into your neck. You can feel his legs shaking as he holds you there. You take pity on him and push him away, Noodle putting your legs down softly. You take him by the hand and guide him to the picnic blanket, patting it for him to lay there. He does and you straddle over him. Noodle’s kind enough to line himself up for you come down on. “Oh…” he mewls as you slide down his length.

You ride him slowly, locking your eyes with his. Noodle watches you intently, those gorgeous green eyes… He touches you under your shirt, cupping you gently and picking up the pace a little. You can feel your body tightening around him. Noodle’s body tenses up and he comes with a whimper, his hips rising up into yours, then falling back onto the blanket. You look down at him, thumbing his lips as he brushes your hair from your face. You smile at each other. “We’ll be fine, Noodle,” you say to him, “For better or worse, ok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'aww! Fluffy, foof and stuff! I love a happy ending (pun intended).
> 
> That being said, with the themes that we're dealing with, shit gets dark so if non con/rape is something that squicks you, please don't continue. I sort of surprised myself at how dark this became. Last warning. Carry on.
> 
> zimmer2d


	2. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a word from toxicNeurosis:
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE/NON-CON
> 
> This has been a word from toxicNeurosis.
> 
> *This is zimmer2d and I approve this message. Like for real: trigger warning.*

A month passes much like other days. Noodle’s not quite as well as you would have hoped though. His doctor decides to change his antidepressants when he says that he doesn’t feel like they’re working. You somewhat agree when he says he feels like he simply exists; you’ve noticed he doesn’t leave his room hardly at all, his nightmares still keep him awake at night, and he’s so irritable that he’s liable to fly the fuck off the handle at any given time. What bothers you most is that you aren’t sure how to help him or even if you can.

It seemed like the idea of visiting the creek near Kong Studios had drifted out of his mind after he’d said something about it. Admittedly, you were excited to go back to that little spot by the creek, but as moody as Noodle has become lately, it stays a distant memory.

“He just needs to get outta the house, baby,” Rosie suggests. You didn’t know who to turn to when you needed to get the whole thing off your chest. Tina and Marcie spend their days and nights bickering and interrupting them would probably result in a firestorm of swears and God knows what. You sit on the roof with Rosie, the chilly spring breeze ruffling through your hair as you talk to her. “This place is depressin’ and them two birds squabblin’ all the damn time ain’t makin’ it better.”

“Where should we go, Rosie?” you ask her. The two of you think for a moment.

“Hm. Take him someplace where the two of y’all were happiest. Maybe a familiar, happy place will set off some good memories for him.” Rosie looks down at you. As massive as her hand is, it’s still gentle enough to wipe a runaway tear from your face. “It’ll be ok, honey. We can help him through it. Just gotta be patient.”

You go back inside and find Noodle sitting at the filthy table, clutching a cigarette between his fingers on one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “How is she?”

“Worried, but otherwise fine,” you tell him. That’s something else that bothers you. Noodle’s been smoking almost ten times more than he used to. But all things considered, at least he's out of his room. “I was thinking...let's go somewhere, get out of the house and away from--”

“YEW STUPID FACEACHE!!” you hear Marcie scream at Tina from upstairs. Some sort of shrieky response comes from Tina then Rosie intersects with something and the three of them are at it again.

“That.”

Noodle sighs, putting down his cigarette and rubbing his head in a tired fashion. “Five minutes. I'll meet you outside. We can take the Geep and get out of here.”

You decide to surprise him with that visit he wanted to the creek. You missed skipping stones and all the other childlike things you did it together there, maybe Noodle will come out his dark place long enough to skip a few stones with you.

“You wanted to come here, right?” you ask brightly. Noodle just shrugs. “I missed coming here with you. Remember? Sometimes we came here late at night and just talked. I…” you break off as Noodle settles under the shady tree by the bank smoking away again. He's a few feet away from you; he's doing it again. He's pushing you out, shoving you away. At first you figured it was because of the initial shock of PTSD. You were patient, trying not to think about yourself, and what you wanted and needed was put on the back burner for Noodle’s sake. It's been too long of a time and your patience is running thin. Now it seems like he's just being an asshole because he knows you won't leave him alone like this.

But fuck! You are _this_ close…

You sigh heavily and grab the lunch you packed for the day offering him the box you stayed up making, breaking several eggs and burning rice trying to make him a fucking bento box. “I'm not hungry,” he mutters. You set the box down next to him.

“You really should eat a little, Noods,” you say sternly. Not so much out of concern as it was out of irritation. “The doctor said--”

“I said no!”

That’s it. You're fucking done. You wordlessly grab your bag and leave the keys on the ground next to him and head back home. “I wondered when you'd leave too,” he chuckles darkly.

“Excuse me?”

“Four years I go through literal Hell…”

“That was four years I suffered without you, Noodle,” you inform him.

“Suffered?” he laughs cynically, “I'm sure someone filled the void while I was gone.”

Surely, _fucking surely_ , he wasn't implying… “What are you talking about?”

“We haven't had sex in ages,” he states bluntly, “and you never asked. Must mean somebody's putting in the work.” 

“Yeah, me,” you spit at him. “I never asked because you always seem to be in a shitty mood. And where is this coming from anyway?”

Noodle flicks his cigarette onto the frozen creek “Who’s says it's coming from anywhere? Why would you stick around for me? I'm fucked up in the head, aren't I?”

You’re sorely tempted to agree. He stands up and rounds the tree trunk, smirking at it cynically. “Is this why you brought me here? To the place where I ‘proposed’ to you? Because you love me or whatever?” 

You stand next to him, staring at the tree that had your initials scratched into the wood. You thought he forgot but the petulant attitude he has towards you now makes you wish he had. You smell a strange scent on him. 

“What were you smoking just now?” you demand of him. Noodle shrugs. Not good enough. You shove a hand into his pocket and snatch away his cigarette pack, flipping the top back and sniff it. “Really, Noodle? Weed too? You can't mix this with your meds!”

“You sound worse than Rosalinda,” he scoffs at you, then abruptly changes the subject. “I have needs too, you know.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Something in you snaps, the little angel on your shoulder tossing her halo and harp straight to Hell and stomps around in rage. You snatch up the keys to the Geep and shove them into the ignition. “Fine. Let's address _Noodle’s_ fucking needs.”

You’re back at the flat in no time, and in Noodle’s room shortly thereafter. You slam the door and, with a forceful push, Noodle hits the door, knocking his head on the wood. You claw at his clothes, ripping them off and roughly grab his manhood, stroking furiously to make him hard.

He hisses at you, but what do you care? He wants to get off, so dammit, he's getting off! You bite at his already bruised skin, feeling him flinch violently as you touch each one. “P-please, s-stop…” he whines.

“Why should I?” you sneer at him, “Someone's gotta do this work, right? Might as well be you.” You yank him from the door to his bed and throw him onto the mattress, swinging your leg over his waist and pushing aside your panties under your skirt. You slide down his length, an ill deserved sort of satisfaction creeping up on you as you ride him faster and harder. 

“No...please, _please_ ,” Noodle pleads with you. You look down at him and see his eyes flood with tears. His head turns to the right, his hands trembling in fists as he scrunches his eyes closed. Your hands make purchase on his chest and, in your frenzy of sadistic passion, your nails scrape against his skin, catching a couple of bruises you hadn't noticed before. 

Something was wrong. 

A blood curdling scream comes from Noodle, like when he's having an especially horrific nightmare. You stop and slip off him immediately. He continues to scream and you panic, watching him flail around the bed like a demon possessed.

“ROSIE!!” you scream. You fling the door open to see Tina flying down the hallway to investigate the noise. “I-I’m sorry...I didn't…” you fluster at her amid the wails and screams beyond the bedroom door. She says nothing but bursts into the room to do something.

What have you done? This wasn't what you wanted. If you thought this was what would happen....

Marcie comes down the hallway smoking a cigarette, “For the love of sweet baby Satan…” she groans. At the mention of Satan, Noodle screams as if scalded. “Somethin’ I said?” she looks at you, genuinely confused.

“Marcie!” Rosie yells from the roof. “Get your ass in there and help him!”

Marcie snuffs out her cig against the wall and saunters into Noodle’s room. You're frozen where you stand, silent tears slipping down your face. “What happened, baby?” Rosie asks you. It breaks your heart hearing yourself recount what you did, but Rosie says nothing. You know she's listening, though. “What have I done, Rosie?” 

“Shh...don't worry about it now,” she says gently, “What's done is done. Now we need to focus back on helpin’ Noodle get past this, ok?”

You nod as you listened to Marcie and Tina struggle against Noodle, listening to him scream literal bloody murder until you fall asleep in the hall beside his door. 

It must have been a few hours, but you find yourself huddled against the wall, smelling Noodle’s spicy mellow scent all around you in the silent hallway. You feel yourself wrapped up in a Kingdom Hearts blanket and a black pillow you recognize from his bed. What's more, you see a black velvet box open before you, a gold band with a sparkling amethyst in the center and a paper origami heart resting beside the box. ‘Open Me’ was written in Noodle’s chicken scrawl. Your hands tremble as you unfold the intricate piece of paper:

_‘Wanted to do this at our old spot under the tree. I'm sorry.’_

Again, tears silently fall down your face as you slip the ring on the appropriate finger. You grab up the pillow and blanket and quietly tip toe into Noodle’s room. 

He's already trembling in his sleep, his hands twitching as they search for you. You climb in behind him, letting him choke the life out of your hands until he calms down enough for you to sleep. “I'm sorry Noodle,” you mutter just before dozing off, kissing the top of his head as he squeezes the ring on your left finger.


End file.
